“What’d she say this time?” He asked, with a tone that might’ve come off as him not caring for the answer, but really it was because he already knew it. 

“Evening to you too, Peter.” She smirked and leaned against the altar, which scored a scoff from her friend. She didn’t wait for him to speak, knowing he wouldn’t. “She’s broken up with me again.” 

“Well, no shit,” Peter pushed off the altar with a soft grunt which indicated his tormenting backaches. “You can’t be seriously surprised.” He tilted his head to the side, ran one finger around the rim of his clerical collar and craned his neck a little to meet Morella’s gaze. All he saw there was a concoction of genuine rattle and a smirk which she thought covered it up. He sighed again and rolled his eyes, gesturing for her to follow him into the staff room. Once there, he leaned against the window and lit a cigarette, leaning his temple against the stained glass. 

“Don’t kill me with the boring details, cher.” He said with a soft smile on his lips which contradicted his otherwise tired expression. Walz could see that the altar dusting had really gotten to him. She sat down on the windowsill, her feet pressing firmly into the ground, and peeled off some of her hair strands from her lipstick. 

“I think I need to get out of London. This city is way too fucking crowded with people who hate me and that’s too much attention, even for me.” Morella replied after a brief pause. She wasn’t looking at Peter, but rather at the painting of the Virgin Mary that hung on the wall opposite the window. She could tell it was likely from the renaissance era or, at least, a replica of the style of the period. Mary’s robes were intricately painted with ultra-marine - one of the most expensive pigments of the era, which therefore was reserved for the most paramount figures. If Morella had to choose which person in her life to paint with the use of ultra-marine, she would probably land on her and her flatmate’s cat, Medusa. Although, really, it was Morella’s cat.

After a few more moments of observing her childhood crush, Walz realised that Peter never replied to her. She slowly turned her head to find him intently staring at her hair. She ran her hand through her bob, which nowadays barely reached her jaw. For some reason, Peter’s scrutinisation reminded her of her mother; a blank stare that would’ve usually been followed by an unnecessary remark or a scoff. When Peter spoke, however, the vision of her mother quickly dissipated.

“Maybe you’re right. Just mail me the photo you’d like me to use for your missing poster.” Peter ruffled her hair and pushed off the windowsill, beginning to tidy up the small back room of the unassuming and inconspicuous church which held one of the greatest treasures a woman could ask for. Communion wine. 

Morella pretended to laugh at his joke and slid off the windowsill herself, approaching the wooden box below the desk. Peter turned to her sharply and cocked his head to the side sternly. “Oi. Get your bloody own, what are we supposed to give to the kids?” 

“Don’t they usually get grape juice?” Morella lifted her arms in surrender and stepped away from the desk with a soft chuckle. 

“Not when I’m leading the Eucharist.” Peter handed Walz his half finished cigarette and began dusting off the tops of the hymnals carelessly stacked on the floor. Morella wasn’t too sure if he was joking this time. She nodded slowly and looked around the room aimlessly, taking a drag of Peter’s Parliament. She didn’t want to leave yet, admittedly. Even if it meant smoking gross cigarettes and avoiding the eye of God. She studied her friend’s crouched form, which resembled a bass clef or a swirl on a wrought iron gate, as he kneeled on the cold stone floor. How he went from an impassioned Manchester punk to a begrudging follower of Christ was beyond her. Although she was told that this was a common white man pipeline. She leaned back against the windowsill, watching him silently for a couple of minutes. Eventually, she grew uncomfortable with the silence and spoke up again. 

“D’you ever miss my mum?”

Peter stopped what he was doing and sat down on the floor with a grunt, looking up at her with an expression which didn’t reciprocate the peculiarity of such a question. 

“Sometimes. Does that bother you?”

“No. I mean, I miss her too from time to time. Mostly when I’m hungry or puking in the alleyway behind Patrick’s,” She did a small laugh, but when Peter didn’t share it with her, it decrescendoed into more of a scoff. “I guess a part of me wonders if she thought of me as much as I think about her now that she’s dead.” 

“When you moved away? Sure she did. You are the only good thing that came of her.” 

That did make Walz smile. There was a certain irony in keeping the knife inside your body in order to stop the bleeding it was causing. She rubbed a ball of dirt into the floor with the toe of her boot which earned an annoyed expression from Peter, but he didn’t say anything. Not when she was like this. He opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing better than what he’d already said came to mind. 

Realising she wouldn’t get much else out of her poor, frazzled friend, Morella sighed and crouched next to him, patting him on the back.

“I won’t keep you then, father. I'm going to give my clothes a wash before I fuck off.” 

“Aye. Where are you going in the end, then?” Peter called out after her, barely turning his head from where he was staring at the wall. 

“Dunno, might just throw a dart at a map and see.” She called over her shoulder, sliding a bottle of Sacramental wine into the waistband of her trousers.

We resonate with dystopia and apocalypse because, despite everything, it sounds better than all that on top of being boring. The action in such films and media in general creates tragedy which is cruelly romantic. Our world is overflowing with tragedy, of course, but we also don’t have laser guns. Our society has grown to resent boredom because boredom implies a lack of action, which, in a capitalistic terms, equates to a lack of progress. This has had an adverse effect, however, with boredom being substituted with mindless one-time wonders which encourage trivial consumption.

‘So now you just want cheap thrills and, like, plenty of them and it don’t matter how tawdry or vacuous they are, as long as it’s new, as long as it’s new, as long as it flashes and fucking bleeps in forty fucking different colours.’ - David Thewils (Naked, 1993)

Have you ever scrolled Reels of TikTok and found yourself bored even with that? Some people might say that this is the end, but I think this is the beginning of the only devolving we need to be doing. In my other essay, I have touched upon the importance of tactility and physical engagement with your surroundings. My classes have been passive aggressively told off by teachers and professors for using laptops instead of writing by hand (but then we still have to submit all of our work digitally, okay). My eyes are stuck at the top of my head at this point, but I will say, I agree with them on the genuine necessity to continue to consume physical media, where possible. If I see one more add between my Constantine marathon (which only got 1 season, never forget), I will lose my mind, and I don’t even know how to take on 6 season of The Sopranos if that is the case.

If you’re sitting there like, ‘River, why are you trashing on my doomscrolling before bed time?’, I am not! I do it too and probably more than you sometimes. But what I found is that if movies and books taught us anything, it’s that anything that has the word ‘doom’ in it is probably evil. Now that that’s off our chests, I will share my ways of devolving that I have found made me feel like an actual person. We love to romanticise futuristic action films, but forget that those people were still doing something. This world is starting to look a lot more like WALL-E and we’re the people on the space ship. I still cannot rewatch that movie because I cry too hard. I digress.

I have acquired an old PSP recently. Maybe it works slower than an IPad, but it makes me look mysterious and non-chalant. Think of it like vapes vs cigarettes, just imagine Mia Wallace puffing on a Mango Ice Lost Mary, or John Constantine hiding an Elf Bar in the sleeve of his coat. This is not to say that smoking is good, but neither is vaping and not a single person on earth can say that vaping at least looks cooler. In any case, I have wanted this PSP for a long time for nostalgia reasons, because my cousin and I used to play Mortal Kombat on it (big up Sub-Zero) and I wanted to feel happy again. What I didn’t realise, was that I was the feeling of the console in my hands and the somewhat low quality graphics would be my favourite thing in the world. Many of us romanticise old video games and generally the 90s and 00s life. So why would we want to fear the future when we can revert back to something that already exists? Why not buy a TV and CDs and a record player? You think that warm fuzzy feeling around the edges of your memories is nostalgia? Partly, but it’s also just the way the world looked back then. I would love my bedazzled Union Flag (or Union Jack if you don’t know the difference) flip phone back. Of course I couldn’t keep on buying PSP games on disc, so with the help of my boyfriend and good friend, I’m going to jail break it. Remember the film Hackers (1995)?

I then went down memory lane and replayed all of the older video games I used to love. I will include some photos I took of the scenes I found the most captivating.

I found that shopping for gifts for my friends and family at thrift and antique stores feels a lot more meaningful and authentic than buying something online last minute. If you think your local stores aren’t good enough, then make things. When was the last time you made something for yourself for for someone you love? No one is asking anyone to abandon everything they’re used to, but small steps towards a life that prioritises community and accountability instead of laziness and selfishness is a step in the right direction. You do, in fact, owe the people you love your love. You do, in fact, need to do things you don’t want sometimes. You do, in fact, not exist on Earth to entertain, but you do exist in a community. I know how good laziness feels, but so does the feeling of gifting your friend the boots they’ve been looking for, or watching an 80s horror movie on a real TV, or getting back home from grocery shopping knowing you have bought your favourite. Not to sound like a cheesy coming of age film, but the romance of life isn’t behind the screen, it’s been here all along.

It may seem brutal for me to urge anyone to do any of these things in this day and age, where wars and genocides are a constant and horrific reality. Where families are being torn apart, where our rights depend on the colour of our skin and who we love, or who we are at all by complete chance. This is merely a small act of rebellion I encourage in us, because it rehabilitates community and that is exactly what we all need right now. Empathy, compassion, solidarity are all traits most of us are born with, but we seem to have forgotten that.

My point at the end of the day is that we are so far gone into this consumerist world to the point where we don’t even enjoy it anymore. We revel in our misery because we think there is a way to make it poetic, a way to make it seem like a cool dystopian world. People often associate consumerism with quantity, but then why are all of the beige minimalist millennials shopping on SHEIN? I am of the opinion, that buying records of your favourite artists to play on your record player is less consumerist than paying 13 quid a month for a Spotify Premium subscription. I dream of a world where we don’t romanticise dystopia, but think of it as a distant concept, where it doesn’t rapidly merge with our reality.

While the atrocities and exploitation by the system we live in remain the same in all of these universes, I can’t help but notice that we are moving in the least undesirable direction of technological advancements. With the rise of AI and social media, we stray further and further from the beautiful world of futuristic concepts that were active back in the 90s and 00s. If we look as Nokia’s nanotechnology, for example, we can notice that it focused on aesthetics as well as efficiency. The world seemed to have a different hue to it back in the day, considering the colour schemes that were used even by corporate companies.

I believe the Nokia archive is mostly unrealised concepts, but we can take a look at existing 2000s technology to observe a similar aesthetic, for example, the Samsung Le Fleur phones.

I believe that with innovation we risk creativity. As Ryan Reynolds once said, and I cannot believe I’m quoting him, ‘the enemy of creativity is too much time and too much money’. Perhaps with the passage of time and development of technology, we began strive for sterile and strictly efficient electronics, but I cannot vouch for their efficiency anymore. The instalment of ‘AI helpers’ that need to be fact checked anyway, 10 minute long advertisements, and brain numbing social media platforms, I would argue hat we become less efficient. The 5 minutes one saves by getting AI to draft their email is replaced by 2 hours of doomscrolling. Most Sci-Fi media is at least action packed, if nothing else, while our world might be more of a dystopian drama with nothing wondrous behind it.

Technology was always meant to be artistic, as art is part of our every day culture. Drawing penises on your school desks, graffiti-ing the bathrooms at your local pub, or writing your lover cute notes to find - that is all art in its own way. We practice the act of creation daily, and so when something deprives us from such an activity, we feel unfulfilled. I heard that younger children are losing their motor functions due to the use of IPads instead of writing things manually. Coming back to my main point, even in all of these Sci-Fi re-imaginations of the future, tactility is still a very big part of technology, and if it isn’t, then it’s often portrayed as dystopian. Let’s take a look at some frames from the aforementioned media.

Two completely different colour schemes portrayed, yet both dreamy in their own ways. The bisexual palette on the left appears mysterious and captivating, while the Fight Club-esque green and florescent hue with one of the hottest men in the world is a dystopia I reckon I can romanticise. I would much rather my advertisements be showcased on huge neon banners that at least give the world a mystic glow, rather than the boring eyesores I see when I’m pirating a film. The LED lights are allowed to have colour outside of your 2020 emo room, and every person who prefers moody lighting can agree with me on that, I’m sure. We can never get the victorian, gothic, or renaissance eras back, but we are a couple design choices away from a much more alluring cityscapes.

Now let’s look at something a little more familiar.

Apologies for the blur. This hits closer to home, doesn’t it? The only bright colour in these images is red, which can represent alarm and aggression. Most people have read 1984 in schools, or most definitely have it on their reading lists. We could consider why that is, but this is already a depressing essay, but I will say, upon reading the book it becomes apparent very quickly. RIP jorjor wel, you would’ve hated vapes with built in gambling games.

One of my favourite childhood films was The Fifth Element, and not only because Milla Jovovich was my sexual awakening. While being set in a ‘gloomy’ and dystopian world, it still as fun and colourful elements. It’s like people in the 90s were all tripping but happier.

Of course we must consider that cinematography often involves over-exaggerated colour schemes and meticulously picked out palettes, but even then, the camera’s back in the day gave everything a dreamy filter which we just do not see today. In fact, out media these days is so sharp is often looks fake, or is, in fact, fake.

There are still details, such as the wrought iron bridge, which make the world of The Fifth Element more magnetic than whatever we are moving towards today. All that is to say, the artists and creators of the 90s and early 00s had a completely different conception of the future, which was portrayed through the media they conceived.

Unfortunately, there is little hope for colour, detail and floating sushi bars now, but we can still find small havens similar to our Sci-Fi dreams in the nooks and crannies of the world. One of the only ways to get through our truly dystopian world is to enjoy tactility and never forget to create. Buy a CD player, buy a heap of old CDs for pennies, listen to music on a record player, go out to buy a book, draw a penis. Any act of manual creation or old-school consumerism is an act of rebellion.

P. S. if the previous tech designs were too ‘girly’ for you, here is an extra:

Step 0: Make a character husk!

(skip to Step 1 if you think you’re better than everyone else and already have one)

It could be a Guy, an eccentric woman, a lost person, a dog, a celestial being, a goblin, a pizza, the choice is yours! Before you do anything else, have an idea of what you’d like the character to be, because their identity will shape how they fare in your world. Here is a list of general character traits and identifiers I was given during my Screenwriting course to get you started:

• Age

• Height

• Weight

• Appearance

• Attractiveness

• Cleaning habits / hygiene

• Clothing

• Ethnicity

• Gender / sexual identity

• Physical disability

• *Superpowers

• *Signature / catch phrases

• Class

• Occupation

• Educational level

• Nationality

• Cultural background

• Family composition

• Religion

• Political position

• Leadership

• Hobbies

These are not prescriptive or restrictive, I’m not here to tell you what to do. The good thing about fiction is that you can do whatever you want. But you should consider giving your character a clear identity, because writing from a hazy concept, like I like to do, can drive you nuts and make you give up altogether. I recommend making a little character sheet, like the DnD folks tend to do. You can get templates online and either print them or just download the document. Writing it all out is a lot more fun and also gives you something to fall back on.

Step 1: Give your character a personality

Yes, no shit, that’s exactly the whole point, I know. However, a lot of people like to settle on specific character tropes like ‘the grumpy one’ or ‘the stupid one’ or ‘woman with impressive pectorals and a snarky personality’. That’s all fine, and is a good start, but why not expand on it? If they are angry all the time, is there something or someone that they could never be angry with? If they are ‘stupid’, is it because they don’t have a choice, or indeed do? What makes someone they way they are? What makes you afraid of the dark? Is it the presence of absence of something?

These are the basics, you should try justifying every single character’s reason for being the way they are. Even if there is no direct exposition for it, I find so much easier to write someone when I know they always wear mismatched socks. Speaking of which, once you have given your character a way of life, you could have some fun and add details that you usually would to fanon media. Here are some questions you can ask yourself about your characters:

• Do they prefer crunchy or soft foods?

• Can they drive?

• Do they prefer bright and fluorescent lighting or soft and dim lighting?

• If they were a Shakespeare play, which one would they be?

• What’s their pizza order?

• What ice cream flavour would they be?

• Do they have a morning routine?

• On a scale of crisp autumn leaf to soggy cat, how soggy are they?

• Would they send you a bunny video?

• Would they fall for AI slop?

• Do they like jazz?

• Would they kill, free or adopt a spider?

• Would they scream during a horror game play through?

• How do they act when they are or if they were drunk?

• Who would be their real world favourite character?

• Would they hate you if they knew you created them?

• Do they have 4 blankets or one sheet with no duvet?

• What’s their preferred sleeping position?

• How would they react to having to babysit an imp?

• What would they do to impress their middle school crush?

You get the idea. I think that creating small questionaries like this is a really useful tool to establish someone’s personality beyond their feelings and their general trope. A friend was telling me about a show called Ghosts on BBC, and the creators made extra content where they conducted interviews with all of the characters, asking them general questions, which I think is brilliant. This is especially brilliant because you make the character. They can say one thing in the interview, but you as their writer will know what the truth actually is.

“What?! I don’t wear speedos to the beach!”

“Why don’t you refer to page 64.”

That wasn’t that funny, but it’s an example. I’m helping you, not entertaining you.

Step 2: Make them imperfect

Sorry, this is not mermaids. One cannot have a rainbow tail without being hated by some animals. Flaws can be anything and aren’t necessarily a negative thing, but something that sets someone apart from the rest. There will always be someone who disagrees with you on an imperfection. Once you realise that imperfections is what makes us anyone at all, is when you will want your characters to have as many as possible. Here are some examples of both physical and mental characteristics to make your character more cool and fun to draw:

• Horrible posture

• Short fuse

• Broken nose

• Loud and funny laugh

• Scars, burn marks, moles

• Chews with their mouth open

• Never clips heir nails

• Radioactive farts

• Crooked / yellow / missing teeth (my favourite)

• Cries a lot

• Doesn’t take anything seriously

• Questionable taste in music

• Internalised prejudices about themselves

• Sleeps with their eyes open

• Puts milk in before cereal

• Weirdly shaped head

• Geographic tongue

• Messy / incomprehensible handwriting

• Some kind of bodily disproportion

• Wrinkles

I struggled with this list because I wouldn’t call any of the above ‘flaws’. I think a character flaw has to be something that leads to someone’s downfall. For the sake of comprehensibility, they can be called ‘quirks’.

Step 2.5: Flaws

Flaws are, as I implied, more serious. Or at least, the general consensus of the audience is usually more undivided. It can be a hamartia (fatal flaw), or just the sheer amount of immorality combined. Flaws are more nuanced to each character, but it could vary from someone cheating on their partner constantly to being a bully, to being ‘a bad feminist’.

If you look at Fleabag, you’ll immediately be able to tell that the woman is very flawed, yet you cannot help but sympathise with her on one level or another. To me, that is one of the best characters ever created because Phoebe Waller-Bridge combines relatability and complete defamiliarisation into one person. We hate what she does, but we love her. Don’t be afraid to leave pieces of yourself in your characters, because that is how they come to life!

Step 3: Add some layers

By layers, I mean trauma. We all have our baggage and if you think you don’t, i’m afraid you are yet to cross that bridge. Someone’s ‘trauma’ (I’m using the term very loosely here), defines them for the rest of their lives. If a character didn’t almost drown when they were 5, you wouldn’t get to do an epic, scary flashback every time they see a body of water. If someone had an evil family, they wouldn’t be as excited to find a new one.

While it absolutely doesn’t have to be something unthinkable or gruesome, it can be something that builds up over time. I think a better term of that would be negative past experience, as I don’t want to label everything unpleasant that happens to us as trauma. If a child is bullied for having ginger hair, that could alter the way they see their ginger hair. If, then, 20 years later their lover makes a joke about their ginger hair, would they react in the same way they would if they didn’t get bullied? You tell me. Trauma, or negative experience, while horrible and heartbreaking, can also be the force that drives someone and could also be a motivation. Speaking of which.

Step 4: Establish their motivation / arc

For me, this is the hardest part, because some characters are just characters who were never meant to be interesting or heroic. Some people just want yo have a 9-5 office job, get married, buy a house, die. Not me, but they must be out there. Some motivations come after the inciting incident, which is a fancy way of saying Shit Just Got Real. Here is what I mean.

Character 1: Superguy McCool

• An established superhero who can move rocks with his mind, but wants to save people

• Oh no, there is an intergalactic war and random people from different dimensions come to ask Superguy for help

• Of course he will help, that’s his whole shtick

• Superguy saves the world AGAIN and fulfills his motivation to save the world

This is my idea of someone with a clear motivation from the get-go, print it.

Character 2: Guy Man

• A man who couldn’t care less about anything in his life, doesn’t like standing out

• He doesn’t have any motivation or purpose

• Oh wait! Could his motivation be to find motivation?

A character doesn’t need to know what they want from the beginning, but you should figure out what they need. For example, a person who lost everything before the story began will either want everything back or not want anything back at all and weirdly, one needs what the other one wants. As in, the person who wants everything back needs to make peace with what is lost, while the person who wants to make peace with everything, needs to find something for themselves. Why? Because otherwise there would be no story. But the actual reason is because what a character wants or doesn’t want defines how they act, feel and think, and therefore defines who they are. Someone who wants to conquer the world is very unlikely to be someone who should do so, because they are driven by power hunger and an immoral outlook on life. On the other hand, someone who does NOT want to rule the world and wants everyone to be equal and get along is actually the best fit for the role.

All that is to say, their motivation does not have to be their arc. A character doesn’t have to be what they want, but rather what they need. Of course, what they want could also be what they need, but those things aren’t always the same. If that made no sense, this is why this article is free.

Step 5: Choose their fate

Depending on how wicked you are, you will either give your characters a good, bad, or ambiguous ending. If you choose ambiguous, you’re on your own here. What characterises how good or bad an ending is? Well, the world could explode and that could be either good or bad depending on your story. Therefore, you can characterise your ending by showcasing if the characters in your story received the best possible scenario. Most likely not, unless you’re writing a book to teach children about positivity. While the ending in Fleabag can be seen as not ideal, it also achieves what Fleabag needed the most: to free herself from her past, get closer to the people she cares about the most, and get the final push to live without waiting for something. While every time I see ‘It will pass’ quoted, I start to violently sob, I also know that it will, indeed, pass. There are also examples of ‘good’ endings that are actually very bleak and depressing, like in Twelfth Night when Viola marries the guy who resorted to her after not getting his dream girl. Whatever you decide, it will be viewed from the perspective of what happens to your characters, and that is an important thing to remember.

While I’ve already noted that this isn’t THE way to do it, I hope some of this was useful, or at least prompted you to think about your characters on a deeper level. Characters have to exist outside of the story, they must be multi-dimensional, in a way. Whatever happens to them in the stroy isn’t the only thing that has ever happened to them. Most importantly, have fun making your OCs, give them tentacles, no facial features and freakish height. Pretty sure that hasn’t been done before. Thank you for reading, I hope to see you again.

I like to think that I will try anything once, although I suppose I can immediately prove myself wrong by recalling a sex party I have found myself amidst and realised that I was completely out of my depth, literally. But if we focus solely on food, I will indeed want to try every single thing that is edible, even if it kills me. Not everyone I know shares my enthusiasm, which is probably a fair choice, but my father definitely does. Whenever my family are presented with a dodgy-looking dish, my mother’s initial reaction is to playfully say “Dad will try it first”, and he obliges every time.

Recently we have become invested in a myriad of cooking shows, such as Next Level Chef, Culinary Class Wars, Next Gen Chef, and The Final Table. I’m also partial to The Great British Bake Off, but baking is a whole other skill I’m not qualified for as much yet. I couldn’t tell you the difference between French, Swiss and Italian merignue at gunpoint. Upon watching these shows, we realised that we, in fact, don’t know anything about food and cooking and have been using 5% of our cooking potential this whole time. With Culinary Class Wars in particular, the insight into Korean, Chinese and Japanese cuisines has been eye-opening, I didn’t even know that half of the ingredients the chefs skilfully used existed. The contestants would meticulously prepare pork belly, grind out their own noodles, sear creatures I have never seen before, and much more. And then the judges would try the dish and say something along the lines of: “Mm, this might be the best Geoduck I have ever eaten”, which made me feel like I have failed as a food connoisseur, because I have not tried Geoduck once. So, to expand our culinary horizons, my dad and I decided to visit a fine-dining restaurant to see what the pretentious critics rave about.

Still with me? Can you tell I like to write things and talk about myself a lot? Don’t answer that. Here goes an honest and personal review of Panta Rei (London).

We travelled somewhat down south to get there, and the restaurant itself was tucked away amidst other inconspicuous buildings, opposite a dental practice, which for me was, for a lack of a better word, triggering. I had braces for 5 years and a couple surgeries on my teeth, as well as getting more than a few fillings when I was younger. For some reason, my parents allowed me to get colourful ones, which started off with cute pink, purple, and golds, but quickly escalated into me getting a green filling and looking like I had a piece of spinach stuck in my teeth, until it fell out some time in year 6. I decided to put my prejudices aside and followed my dad inside.

The place itself had a very intimate feel, as there were maybe 6 people at the chef’s counter and a single regular-sized dining table in the venue. While being small, it was very cozy and felt like I walked into something akin to Mr. Peabody’s kitchen. There was another couple sitting next to us at the counter, who were clearly more experienced than us. They were chatting to the chef whose name is Lorenzo Salami, which I thought was magnificent, since he is, in fact Italian. Chef Salami informed us that they had a double no-show, which meant that two other couples were meant to join us, but they probably got abducted on the way. I was fine with that, I prefer being niche and exclusive anyway.

I was very excited, since I was able to recognise all of the kitchen utensils that were used before us. My father was particularly enthused with a small ladle that the chefs used to add starchy pasta water to the sauce, since my brother likes to do that (or, rather, makes us do it), to his own pasta, which is also the only thing he eats.

First Course

I ordered an Espresso Martini, because I’m not scared of mixing my alcohol and also because if I had wine, which was the recommended option, I would fall asleep. I also enjoy bartenders hating me. The first thing we tried was a smoked salmon pate stuffed in a small smoked cornetto, with dill ice cream on top. Admittedly, I have never tried something like that, and since the world revolves around me, this must be the first time anyone has done something like that.

The beans weren’t edible, but that’s fine because I’m allergic anyway. It was presented to us in a smoking dome contraption (this isn’t a professional review), which my dad immediately noted down for himself to purchase. It was delicious, I don’t have to spell that out. It reminded me of Scandinavia, probably due to the dill and salmon mix of flavours. It also reminded me of my grandfather’s fish soup, which I used to hate as a child, but now miss dearly and often crave when I’m ill. I was sceptical about the ice cream, but it actually created a really nice contrast to the warm salmon pate. My dad accidentally stabbed his gum with a stray shard of the cornetto, which became a problem for the rest of the meal, and I was informed of it quite frequently. Fine dining is an extreme hobby, evidently.

Second Course

I don’t quite recall when exactly, but the waiter politely informed me that whoever made my martini wasn’t satisfied with how it came out, so they generously remade a new one for me on the house. I was already three sheets to the wind from finishing the first one on an empty stomach, which made me think this was some kind of sabotage plot. But who am I to deny a free drink, especially when they were so sweet about it? I don’t remember anything past this point, so I apologise for any inaccuracies. Next time I will bring a notepad.

We were presented with a wagyu and hazelnut panini, which was executed by sandwiching the mix of the two between crispy cracker-like pieces of bread in the shape of a cow’s head. I thought that it was putting salt on the wound a little, but, once again, was absolutely amazing.

The wagyu was either a tar tar or something of the sort, and I love tartare, so this was right down my lane. I discovered my love for tartare in Prague, when I made my friends take a little tram up Peřtin Hill. We found a cafe amidst our wanderings and I decided to make everyone like me again and feed them. One of my friends ordered a beef tartare, which came in such a way that he could mix it himself. He loved it so much that it inspired me to try some as well. I think the raw meat would be nothing if it wasn’t for the capers, mustard and whatever else you add to the classic recipe. This one in particular was amazing because you could eat it like a canapé, or at least that’s what I did. I don’t know the rules of etiquette too well, so think of me as Gagarin dining with the Queen (RIP to both).

Third Course

Next up was a mini tartelette, tuna tartare, buffalo mozzarella, lemon and avocado. Once you see the photo, you will think I’m pulling your leg, but I swear that’s exactly what it was! If you’re a devoted fan of this blog, you will know that I love tartare, so this was once again a win for me.

I’m not sure what the flowers were, so if any botanists would like to mansplain it to me, I’ll welcome it just this once. The white dome is the mozzarella, and it had some kind of gelatinous glaze, which was something I also never tried before. The tartelette was of a fun shape, and this was definitely supposed to be eaten as a canapé, so I don’t want to hear anything. This was definitely reminiscent of an elevated Italian salad of some sort, the kind you would eat in Tuscany while looking out onto the endless and beautiful fields that mysteriously disappear behind the horizon. I’m also a creative writer, by the way. The colour of the flowers is so whimsical I thought it was too good to not be poisonous. I seem to still be alive, unless of course my university run is purgatory, which is plausible.

Fourth Course

By this point, I admittedly don’t remember if I got another Espresso Martini, but I started insisting to my father that I have what it takes to become a food critic, and well, I don’t know. You tell me. By that point I have watched enough culinary shows to know that colour and texture are very important, which cannot be said about my brother’s beige parmesan pasta, so obviously he isn’t in on the trends.

To cleanse our palettes, we were given sourdough bread. One of my friends referred to it as “woke bread” once, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Luckily, I’m woke enough to be partial to making love to sourdough. The bread was presented to us with ‘layered butter’ which is exactly what it sounds like. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sober enough to remember all of the layers, but my favourite one were the dried rose petals. The wooden butter knives we were given were what I noted down to get for myself because I was never more satisfied with a utensil. I would like the neurodivergent community to tell me their thoughts on it. It was polished and smooth and awesome to hold. See for yourselves.

The butter reminds me of the Minecraft Badlands biome, or I suppose actual strata layers found in geology, but I also like to have fun with my life. I think I lest say anything else. It’s bread and butter, why do you think we’ve been eating it for thousands of years?

Fifth Course

This was my favourite course. It was also the last course I didn’t eat my way through like I was crawling through the trenches. I get full quickly, and hungry even quicker, unfortunately. The rapid fire of food was quite challenging for me, which is why I had the fortune of sitting next to my self-sacrificial father. The course was a pumpkin soup, served in actual pumpkins that I assume were used in the making of the soup. I appreciate utilising scraps or remaining bits of the ingredients in the dish, as it feels more important than ever right now. To be exact, the soup consisted of Pumpkin, chestnut and guanciale.

I could eat this every day. It reminded me of my mum’s pumpkin soup she used to make for me after school when I was younger. Even with a not fully developed palette, I loved that soup. Cue the scene in Ratatouille when Anton Ego, upon trying Remy’s dish, remembers his mother’s ratatouille and becomes nice instead of evil. What I’m saying is, mothers’ cooking saves the world and angsty people like me and Anton Ego. No notes, I was emotional.

Sixth Course

We’re half way through! Do you see why I barely made it out now? This dish was interesting in the sense that its main ingredient was razor clams (one thing I love and another I hate). Whatever Chef Salami did with the preserved lemon and fermented garlic sweet & sour dressing saved my life.

The chewy texture of the clams was quite pleasant, but since it took me some time to chew, my fullness was growing. This was when my dad came to the rescue and switched out our plates. He got playfully scolded by the waiter for not finishing his food, which, if happened to me, would make me burst into a thousand bats and leave town. It might seem like a small thing, but if I’m allowed to get a little sentimental, I think that my dad’s willingness to take the blow for me, or at least shield me from unwanted interactions, is what our generation would call “hype”. It has always been the case that my father would support me in dire straits (and I was in a lot of those), whether it was because of school or the deep depths of depression in my teenage years. I do genuinely believe that he saved my life.

Seventh Course

Enough sappy things for now, I can’t help myself. This course was one of the strangest but most genius set of ingredients I have ever had the fortune of trying. Stay with me here, dear reader, we have already come so far. Scallop, liquorice, celeriac, mushrooms, coffee. When I saw that on the menu I immediately nudged my father to indicate that his services might be once again needed. To my surprise and the devastation of having to admit that I was wrong, I was presented with one of the best dishes of the night.

Despite bursting at the seams, I promptly inhaled this one. Both my father and I have learned that searing scallop is harder than it might seem, and when they are cooked perfectly, you’ll know. I knew. This inspired my dad to try cooking scallops as well, which he paired with pancetta and sweet potato purée and you know what? Food is the best thing in the world and it will get us through these troubled times, believe me.

Eighth Course

At this point I’m on my universe-knows-what drink and my vision begins to blur, but i haven’t tried anything here that I didn’t at least like, so I wasn’t going to let Chef Salami down. This course was probably the most well know, and therefore had to be executed to perfection. That is not to say that it was an easy, but once again I was fighting against myself to finish it. It was black truffle spaghetti with pine cones. You want to know another thing about me? I love truffle.

There was one thing we wanted to do when we came to Tuscany, and that was truffle hunting. We met our fierce hunter called Tartufo (Tufo for short), who was the most charming young man who had a passion for digging. It didn’t matter if the truffles existed beneath the soil, he would make sure to comb through it anyway. We, of course, suspected that for our pleasure and success the truffles were planted in certain spots for Tufo to dig up, but the second I laid my eyes upon him, I didn’t care. Yes, I will show him to you, I’m not a monster.

Anyway, yes, I love truffles.

Intermission

Chef Salami gave us pinecones to eat. They were delicious. When I lived in St. Petersburg, there was a restaurant relatively close to me that made pinecone syrup with whole pinecones floating in it. I also loved to eat fresh pinecones off the trees as a kid. I did also eat cigarette butts and dog excrement, so don't trust my judgement too much. These were soaked in some sort of syrup I believe, and had a soft and chewy texture of gummies I could probably eat these as a snack forever.

Ninth Course

Next up was the venison, with macadamia nuts and morel mushrooms. I can’t recall if I have ever tried venison before, but I know it’s quite hard to get right since it can become dry and chewy if overcooked. That was when we were notified by Chef Salami that he has cooked for Royal Family before, and I will say, we all have our preferences. My father leans towards medium and medium well temperatures for meat, while I prefer medium and medium rare.

When a chef recommends something, we learned, definitely take their advice. Unless it’s something like following them out back and getting shot, of course. I wouldn’t recommend that, but then again, I’m not a chef, am I? The pure was tempting me like Satan was tempting Eve, I was about to abandon everything I know and lick the plate clean. But I’m an aspiring food critic, so I just desperately scraped at the plate.

Tenth Course

We are at the desert, dear reader. I don’t expect anyone to care enough to get up to this point, but if you did, you don’t have a life. This was was straight from kindergarten for me. Carrots, white chocolate, chilli. Upon reading that I doubt you imagined what that dish looked like in person.

I had so much fun eating it. We used to get grated carrot as dessert or midday snack back in kindergarten. We also got some sort of “oxygen drink”, and no one knows what it actually was, but that’s what the foam reminded me of.

Eleventh Course

Last one! I felt like that one scene in A Nightmare on Elm Street when Freddy was feeding the girl her own guts, but I always have space for a good dessert. Our favourite woke bread again, pistachio, burrata, vanilla.

The vanilla cream was like I made it to Olympus and tasted the nectar of the Gods, honestly. I know what these flowers are, so I will not accept any botanical mansplaining here.

Bonus

Conclusion

On a real note, thank you if you took the time to read my ramblings. I don’t know what I’ll do with this account in the future, but hopefully something varied and fun. I hope to see you again, and yes, I mean literally. I see you right now. Go eat some good food and make yourself happy. À tout à l’heure!